Mistaken Identity
by kashkow
Summary: Written for a contest, this is my outing for a "creature" feature. My apologies to Ireland.


Mistaken Identity by Ellen H

Chapter One-

Admiral Harriman Nelson, US Navy, retired, stepped out of the small plane that had touched down on the rough landing strip moments earlier and stretched his back. The confines of the plane had not caused his stiffness so much as the hours of sitting during the conference he had left an hour earlier. The conference had been three days of papers being presented, points argued, and after hours, liquor consumed. Nelson had found over the years that the discussion of advanced scientific theories tended to give a man a deep thirst, and the nights had been almost as hard as the days. Now, the conference finally over, he felt a need to unwind, and that was why they were here. He turned to watch as his traveling companion, Commander Lee Crane, U.S. Naval Reserve, climbed out of the back of the plane.

The tall, slim officer was dressed in his dark blue Naval uniform, as he had been attending a meeting with certain members of the British equivalent of ONI, the Royal Naval Investigative Service. The exact purpose for the meeting was not something that Nelson was privy to, though his security clearance would have certainly allowed him access had it been necessary. However, there was no need for Nelson to know, and he had not pushed the issue. Crane had also not felt the need to offer the information, and so it had gone. Nelson left the suite they had shared each day to go to the conference, and Crane had gone to the headquarters of the NIS. Both meetings had concluded at about the same time, and Nelson had decided that they both deserved a short break before returning to the rigors of life aboard _Seaview_, the submarine owned and operated by the Nelson Institute of Marine Research, which Nelson had founded years earlier.

The _Seaview_ was currently undergoing the regular maintenance necessary to keep the submarine in top shape. The timing had been perfect for Nelson to tempt Crane into taking time off rather than simply returning to Santa Barbara and working until the next cruise as the young man had intended. As Nelson had pointed out, the _Seaview_ would be off limits as the decks were being refinished in both the control room and the officer's quarters. Both Crane and Nelson had cleared their desks before leaving for Scotland, and the most telling point, Nelson had ordered Sharkey, to pick them up at the Cork Harbor, the Irish Navy base three days from now, and the only alternative was to wait at the airport for standby seats in coach for a long and probably uncomfortable flight on a commercial jet.

Crane had acquiesced to fate, and had climbed aboard the small piper Cherokee for the flight across the Ocean to Ireland, the land of Nelson's ancestors. It had been here, in the Northeast of the Emerald Isle, that the Nelsons of old had plied their trade as fishermen to keep hearth and home together. It had only been after leaving Ireland during the great potato famine of 1839 that the Nelson line had turned to piracy and slave trading to make a dishonest dollar. Nelson, the last of the line, had been ashamed to discover the depths to which his ancestors had fallen, but they had built the base for the fortune that his father had built into an even larger one allowing Nelson to do the things he had done, to build the Institute, and to create the _Seaview_. He hoped in some cosmic way that the good that the Institute did helped to balance the evil his ancestors had done.

He had never before taken the opportunity to come here and see the land that his ancestors had walked, at least not beyond a few trips to the major cities of the south. His father had been a solemn man, not taken to curiosity about his forefathers. After the death of his parents, when he was in his twenties, it had been a matter of keeping up with a busy Naval career and raising his younger sister, Edith, now deceased. Edith had come here several times, always singing the praises of the small town: its people, and the country around it. More recently he had been busy with Institute business, and had just never used the few days of vacation he got to travel here. It seemed that fate had ordained the time was right, and he had seized the moment, happy to be able to include Lee Crane in his sojourn to the ancestral home.

Starting out as teacher and student after a strange and nearly fatal meeting, the two, separated by not only a generation but also life experience, had become fellow officers, shipmates, and finally friends. But in the last several years, since Crane had come to the Institute to captain the great gray boat that Nelson had created, their relationship had grown again, maturing past friendship to something closer, something that neither had expected to find in their lives, family. To Crane, Nelson had always been larger than life, a shining example of what an officer, a man, should be. The change from mentor to father figure had been a subtle and slow one, but it had happened, and Crane would not trade anything for that.

For Nelson, it had been a change that he had never in a million years considered. He had mentored many young men in his years in the Navy. He had felt responsible for every person that he had ever commanded, but Lee Crane had been different from the start. In a cadre of outstanding young men and women, Crane had stood out. He had been smart, athletic, a natural leader, and something in him had drawn Nelson to him. He had been careful to show no favoritism, not at the Academy, and not later when they had served aboard the same submarine. But it that had changed when Crane had come to the Institute, to _Seaview_. It was as if the boat had been created for him, like a setting for a jewel. The boat and the man complimented each other completely. In moments when he allowed himself to think of the relationship they shared, Nelson wondered if subconsciously he had created _Seaview_ with Crane in mind, his heart knowing what his mind would not acknowledge.

It was not a relationship that either man felt needed to be discussed. It simply was, and that was enough for them. Perhaps at some later time they would do so, but until then they went on, acting as they always had. Crane respecting Nelson and following his orders as long as he felt that they did not put the boat or crew in danger, and Nelson coming to count on the balance the younger man offered to keep his scientific curiosity in check enough for them all to survive to return home.

Now, Nelson wanted to share another part of himself with Crane, his past. They had unfortunately met Shamus Nelson in his ghostly form, but Nelson was determined to find the better part of the Nelson heritage. The men and women that had lived here had been hard working fisher folk. Living here on the banks of the estuary that led out to the sea, and facing the treacherous waves of the North Sea on a daily basis to make a living, had made them tough and practical people. Much like those that still lived in the isolated village today. The small airport, the remains of a World War II airbase, was the quickest way in, the alternative being the mail boat from the south, or an hours long trip by road via Land Rover over bumpy and sometimes washed out roads.

It was just on the edge of sunset, the shadows lengthening toward night. A lone battered car, about the same vintage as the landing strip, waited beside the old building that acted as an office, and a man got out as Nelson turned toward it. He was not a tall man, but like Nelson he was sturdy of frame, and had the same flaming red hair streaked with iron grey peeking from beneath a round hat which he removed as he stepped up to Nelson.

"You'd be the Nelson party?" He asked in a deep Irish accent. At Nelson's nod he broke into a wide grin and spread his arms. "Sure and I didn't figure you were just stopping by to see the sights, but I had to be asking just the same. I be Haskin O'Doul, at your service. I'll be your ride to the bed and breakfast, which is what they be calling the inn now." He looked toward the plane where Crane was getting their bags out of the plane. "Here now! Let me take care o'those. It's what they pay me.." he broke off as Crane turned to look at him, seemingly startled by something. He recovered quickly however and scuttled forward to take the bags. If he seemed to avoid eye contact with the young man it could have just been coincidence, but Nelson got the impression that O'Doul was thinking hard about something.

The man loaded the bags into the car, and ushered them into the back. He seemed to have moved past his strange reaction and now chattered endlessly about things they could barely make out in the twilight. He pointed out several places that they just 'had' to visit during their stay, the local pub, The Dog and Hare, the local churchyard, full of old grave stones from way back, and the docks with all the boats, and several other points of interest. They passed quickly through the small town, barely three blocks of houses and darkened businesses, and emerged into the country on the other side. They passed over an old, narrow stone bridge crossing a river. It was about thirty feet from bank to bank, but they could not tell how deep it was in the increasing darkness. Crane leaned forward.

"What river is that?" he asked, curious. The driver seemed not to hear the question, and pointed out a small ruined abbey that stood shining in the moonlight on a hill to the south. Crane sat back and raised an eyebrow at Nelson who shrugged. He had no idea what was bothering the man. He decided to try a question of his own.

"My ancestors were from this area. My sister, Edith Nelson, spent some time here several years ago, did you know her?" he asked.

"Oh aye!" the man replied enthusiastically. Nelson and Crane exchanged looks again, and this time Crane was the one to shrug. O'Doul was continuing. "A fine young lass she was, wanting to take in all the sights and see where the old homestead was. O'course we can't know for sure, it's been a long time since any of your kin were here, but I showed her the best guess we could make on it. How is the lassie?"

Nelson shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like to discuss Edith's death. It was hard to explain why she had died, and speaking of it even in general terms was painful to him. "She died, the year before last, in an accident." It was the standard answer he gave to those to whom he did not wish to explain further. None but the most rude would inquire further.

The man in the front seat cast a startled look into the rearview mirror, his eyes darting from Nelson to Crane, and then back to the road. He crossed himself. "I'm sorry to hear that." He muttered. The car turned off the road and turned into a long driveway that led to a large two-story building, the dimensions of which were hard to make out in the now almost total darkness. A soft glow shown from several windows making a welcome pool of light near a large wooden door covered by a long porch. The car drew up under it, and Crane and Nelson disembarked and then stood watching as O'Doul took the bags out of the trunk.

As O'Doul sat the bags near the door it opened to reveal a woman of Nelson's age, her long graying dark hair pulled back in a bun, with glasses hung by a chain around her neck. She smiled at the two men. "Welcome to O'Quinn House. I'm Ellie O'Quinn, the proprietress. You must be the Nelson party, so nice to see you. I have your rooms ready, and a small dinner prepared since I am sure you won't be wanting to run back to the pub tonight for your meal." She motioned them into the building.

"Don't worry about your bags. O'Doul will see that they are brought to your rooms. Aren't you cold without a coat, young man? It seems a wee bit nippy tonight, even with it being summer and all." She addressed the last to Crane who smiled at her and shook his head. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, to be young again. I remember when it was the dead of winter and me mother, God rest her soul, would be hollering for me to take a wrap, and me just running out without it." She nattered on as she led the two smiling men into a small dining room. There were five tables, covered in snow-white linens. Place settings were in front of each chair. On one table, nearest another door that probably led to the kitchen, two place settings had been removed leaving only two. A tureen of soup sat steaming between the plates, and a delicious aroma wafted toward them. Nelson smiled.

"Why that smells like the stew our cook used to make when I was a boy. Mulligatawny is what I believe she called it," he said, stripping off his light coat and dropping it over the back of one of the other chairs. The smell made him hungry, and he eagerly sat down at one of the set places. Crane also sat down, smiling at the older woman who pulled her eyes away from Nelson and blushed suddenly. She went to serve them some of the soup. A loud thump came from the hallway and they turned to look. O'Doul stood there, the bags at his feet, his eyes moving from Crane to the woman. She cast him a questioning glance, and returned to serving the soup. O'Doul scowled at the two men, and picked up the bags, disappearing down the hallway. The woman went into the kitchen, saying something about some fresh bread. Crane leaned over the table slightly.

"Am I imagining it or does O'Doul seem to have a problem with me?" the young captain asked.

Nelson smiled and shook his head. "No, you are not imagining it. Perhaps you remind him of someone," he said. He took a bit of the stew. It was very good, and was indeed like that which their old Irish cook had made in his youth. Their hostess reappeared from the kitchen with a basket of sliced bread, obviously still warm from the oven if the smell was any indication. She left to them to eat with an admonishment to call her in the kitchen when they were done, or if they wanted anything.

Both men tucked into the food, feeling hungry after their long day. As they ate they discussed the conference that Nelson had attended, and the people he had met that he had not seen in a long time. He had even managed to get the Institute more business as one of his colleagues had requested some time aboard the sub to further his research on deep-sea algae species and the creatures that ate it. Crane and Nelson discussed when they could fit the cruise into the schedule. Finally they had both had their fill, making a good-sized dent in the level of the soup in the tureen. The small woman, obviously keeping an eye on them from the kitchen, came bustling out as Nelson leaned back and lit a cigarette.

"Oh and you've made a good go at it haven't you?" she said as she looked in the tureen. "I'm so glad you liked it. Would you like some dessert?"

Nelson looked at Crane who shook his head, then shook his own. "The soup and bread were so good we're both stuffed. I really appreciate this Mrs. O'Quinn. I know that your brochure says that you only serve breakfast. We're sorry to put you to such trouble."

The woman waved away the thanks. "Don't let t concern you a bit. I usually make a big pot of stew for O'Doul and I. It wasn't any problem to make a little more." She then smiled in a nearly suggestive way at Nelson, "And by the way, it's Miss, not Mrs. Never married. Haven't met quite the right man." She nearly fluttered her eyelashes, and Crane, who had been sipping his coffee, made a snorting noise and then starting coughing. Nelson cast him a nasty look behind the woman's back as she went to pound the young man between the shoulder blades. Crane recovered from his attack, and raised watering, laughing eyes to Nelson, thanking the woman for her help as he did so. Nelson gave him another scowl.

The woman then led them upstairs to two adjoining rooms with a connecting door. They were large airy rooms, each lit by a small fire in natural stone fireplaces. Large beds with thick wooden posts took up most of the room. She turned down each bed moving between the rooms through the inner door that stood open. Once she was done, she went to the doors of Nelson's room.

"The facilities are down the hall. I'm afraid these old houses didn't get updated much beyond the necessities. At least there is one per floor, so there's that to be grateful for." She bustled off, with one last look at Nelson that made Crane start snickering.

Nelson hauled his suitcase onto the bed and scowled at the younger man. "That's enough out of you. I can't count the number of times that I have watched women swooning over you, and I have always refrained from comment."

Crane raised an eyebrow. "Oh then that wasn't you that was betting with Chip about the senator's wife at the party last month. The guy looked just like you. I also seem to recall some money changing hands. I'll have to ask Chip about that," he said as he disappeared into the other room with a laugh. Nelson smiled after him. At least Crane was in a good mood. Sometimes when the captain was away from his 'Gray Lady' too long he could get broody. Crane seemed to be enjoying this as much a Nelson was.

Chapter 2-

Lee Crane woke from a deep sleep with his usual rapidity. One moment he was comfortably asleep, and the next he was wide-awake. Chip kidded him it was the result of a misspent career with ONI, but Crane could have told him it was instead the result of a misspent youth. When you had gone through what Crane had, waking quickly was a survival habit you could not do without, and one he could not break even when he knew he was safe, as he was now. He stretched luxuriously in the large bed, gratified to find that it was more than long enough for his tall frame.

He looked toward the windows, and could see that the sun was barely lighting the sky. They had gone to bed early the night before, both exhausted by the days of conferences and meetings. Crane should have known that his internal clock would not cut him any slack. Not that he minded. Six hours was really all he needed. He rose and went down the hall to bathe and dress, being as quiet as possible so as not to wake any other guests. He wasn't really sure there were any others, but Nelson was next door, and he wanted to allow the admiral as much time as he wanted.

He returned to his room and picked up a small folder that had a map of the area and several suggestions for things to do. One of the items caught his eye. Evidently the same river they had driven over last night wound around and passed close to the inn. The Dunlevy was supposedly warm in the summer months, and two deep pools were nearby and available for swimmers who might wish to use them. He decided to do so, and changed into his swim trunks. After wrapping himself in his dark robe he headed down the stairs and followed the hall to a back door. He saw no one as he followed the path down to the river.

He was pleased to find the area unused, and shed his robe and dove into the first pool, his slim body knifing into the water cleanly. For a brief moment the water was cold, but then his body adjusted and it became comfortable. He explored the area of the two pools slowly, getting a feel for the terrain of the river bottom. A length of shallower river connected the pools but it was all deep enough for him to swim easily. The length was about that of an Olympic pool. He went to the lower pool, and began swimming upstream, his arms cutting the water cleanly, and his legs driving powerfully against the current. He made several laps, letting his muscles warm. He lost track of the time as he made his way up and down the river. Finally he stopped in the lower pool, and shook the water from his hair. The exercise had been wonderful. He had been unable to do his normal exercising over the last several days and it had made him uncomfortable.

He looked up at the sun, which had moved a good deal since he had come down. He should be returning to the inn, before he was missed. He decided to do a little exploring as he worked his way back up the river to where he had left his robe and slippers. Taking a deep breath and executing an in-place dive, he drove himself down to the river bottom, though it was not as easy as it would have been with fins. As he reached the graveled bottom he looked around at the underwater scene. It was unusual for him to be able to swim in a river, or any type of fresh water other than a swimming pool. He swam along the bottom, fighting the slower current here along the bottom. He saw several large fish; a species of trout he thought, and knew he would have to taunt Chip Morton about it. Chip loved trout, and often bemoaned his lack of time to go fishing. Crane almost wished for an underwater camera so that he could get pictures of the large specimens he passed.

As his lungs started to signal that he needed to surface, Crane found himself in the upper pool, and he moved toward the bank. He reached the shallows and stood up, putting his head and shoulders above the water. As he shook the water from his face and hair he saw a black horse, a stallion, rush out of the bushes upstream, and pause for a moment near the place where Crane's robe lay. The horse was dripping wet, as if it had just emerged from the river. Their eyes met, and Crane would have sworn he saw intelligence in the golden brown eyes that seemed to survey him in return. He took a step toward the bank, and the horse reared and disappeared into the bushes downstream. Crane looked after it for a moment, then climbed out of the river and put on his robe and slippers. He was using the towel he had brought along to dry his hair when O'Doul burst through the bushes where the horse had come from. When he saw Crane standing there dripping he stopped and stared with a wild look in his eyes.

Crane started to ask him if he was chasing the horse, when the man said something to him in a language he couldn't understand, that he assumed to be Gaelic, and then crossed himself. Without another word O'Doul turned and disappeared the way he had come. Crane watched the man go with a puzzled expression. He had no idea why the man had taken such a dislike to him. So far they hadn't even had as much as a conversation, and they certainly had not met before. He shook off the speculation and went back up the path to the inn. He managed to get back to his room without seeing anyone else, though he could hear people talking and moving about.

He dressed, in jeans and an oxford shirt. He heard a knock on the inner door as he was putting on his hiking boots, Nelson having warned him the night before that they might be hiking over some of the fields to reach what was supposed to be the Nelson lands. He called for the admiral to enter, and finished tying his laces. Nelson, already bathed and dressed, came to stand nearby.

"I knocked earlier but there was no answer, did you go for a walk?" Nelson asked, knowing that Crane tended to be an early riser, even when it wasn't necessary.

"Actually I took a swim. There's a river about two hundred yards to the east. The pools are about the length of a swimming pool, and the water was great," Crane enthused. Nelson smiled at the younger man, knowing how he liked exercise, and liked even more to be in the water.

"Well I hope that you've worked up an appetite. It's time for breakfast, and I am told that our hostess puts on a fine table. She'll be hurt if you don't do it justice," he warned obliquely. He knew that for an active man Crane ate less than anyone he had ever seen. The man could live on toast, coffee, and cookies if allowed to. Nelson was aware that Crane would never knowingly offend a woman, but he wanted to be sure that the man attempted more than his regular spare breakfast.

Crane smiled at him, obviously reading his intent. "I worked up an appetite, so I won't embarrass you with Miss O'Quinn, not that I think it would put her off," he assured the admiral who scowled at him again.

"We're here to see the 'auld sod', not make new acquaintances," he said snidely. "Now come along. I need a cup of coffee." They went downstairs and joined ten other people at the tables. Crane grinned when their hostess came and served their table personally. They found their plates loaded with all manner of Irish breakfast foods, and with a bowl of thick oatmeal. The coffee was strong and fragrant, and both men tucked in with a will. Crane didn't eat near as much as Nelson thought he should, but it was a monumental effort none the less, and Miss O'Quinn -call me Ellie, dears- was pleased as she cleared their plates.

After Nelson had finished his cigarette they rose and started toward the hall, only to be intercepted by Miss Quinn who was wringing her hands. "I am so sorry gentlemen, I know that you were planning on O'Doul driving you out to the places that your family used to hold," she said to Nelson with a glance to include Crane. "But I'm afraid the man has gone off somewhere. He said he had something come up, but that's just silly. I do not know what has gotten into the old fool." She was genuinely distressed, and Nelson reached out and patted her arm, earning himself a weepy smile.

"Do not concern yourself," he assured her. "We are more than able to find our own way about. If you could perhaps provide us with a map and tell us where we might be able to hire a car?" Nelson asked.

She shook her head. "Oh I couldn't let you do that, hire a car that is. You must take mine. It is parked out back, and here is the key." She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a map and the key. "I have marked on the map the places that O'Doul talked about. He said that your lovely sister has passed, God rest her soul. It is too bad that she wasn't able to be here with you. But at least you have your son with you. It's so nice to see a family searching for their roots together."

The two men exchanged looks, amused at the woman's nattering. Neither was offended at her supposition regarding their relationship, and did not bother to correct her. Nelson took the keys and the map and with thanks they took their leave. They found the small car behind the house, and briefly argued over who would drive and who would navigate. Nelson finally pulled rank and settled behind the wheel. Crane good-naturedly folded himself into the small passenger seat, and with a few false starts that Crane found quite amusing, they were off.

Chapter 3-

It was almost dark again by the time they pulled into the yard behind the inn. Crane, now driving, killed the engine and turned off the lights. Nelson folded the map that they had put to good use that day. They had successfully found what was assumed to be the Nelson homestead, a small croft on a rocky promontory overlooking the estuary. The current owners had been happy to let the two men wonder the area, and they had found a small graveyard, hewn from the spare soil on the end of the promontory. Two crosses, old and weathered had remained intact, and they could barely make out what appeared to be the name Liam Nelson on one and Kathleen Nelson on another. The dates appeared to be over three hundred years ago. Edith had not found this small graveyard, and so had missed the confirmation that she had indeed found their ancestral home. Nelson felt a brief sadness as he thought of her, now joined with their ancestors in death.

Crane, sensing Nelson's introspective mood, had left him there alone for a time, moving to the edge of the promontory where the small waves of the estuary beat at the granite rocks. Nelson had joined him there, and they had shared the packed lunch that they had discovered in the car, along with an effusive note from Miss O'Quinn, that had Crane laughing again. After exploring the area some more on foot, they had driven down to the harbor, and had walked about looking at the fishing boats as they came back in from the sea, having left very early that morning. The small harbor bustled with activity as boats were unloaded and nets repaired. Small trucks seemed to appear from out of nowhere to gather the catch and disappeared as quickly as they had come.

The two men had had dinner at the pub, enjoying a hearty meal and a drink afterward. Crane had a pint of ale, and Nelson some of the local whiskey. He found it compared favorably to the family label. Crane kidded him briefly, wondering why it was when everyone else searched for their ancestors they were always lords or princes, or at the least a clan chieftain with a fabulous ruined castle and ghosts, but all Nelson could come up with was a small croft being lived in by a family that reported no activity of a spectral nature. Nelson had smiled and raised his glass of whiskey.

"Ah but it appears that I got the better of the deal. No old windy castle to eat up the inheritance with taxes and repairs, but instead a fine supply of the 'creature'," he quipped. They had stayed at the pub for several hours, listening to the stories being told around the fire, stories that ranged from the easily believable to downright fantasy, involving fairies and leprechauns. Nelson had risen when the last had been mentioned and threw down some money for a tip. Crane studied his face as they went back to the car, wondering if Nelson was still thinking of their own experience with the leprechauns. Of course he couldn't say he was any too fond of the little men himself. They returned to the inn, where several other people were in the sitting room. Some were playing cards; others were watching the grainy television. Crane and Nelson, neither feeling like mingling went up to their rooms, and spent the evening reading reports. They went to bed early again and slept well.

Crane once again woke early and once again went down and swam. He truly enjoyed the interlude. He had not relaxed in this way in a long time. It seemed that his shore leaves always turned into something else, either an impromptu ONI mission, or just trouble finding him once again. He did his laps, and emerged invigorated and ready for another day of sight seeing. Nelson had said that they would travel out to one of the castles in the next county. It was located on the coast, and was said to have a very nice collection of Naval memorabilia, the legacy of the last laird who had been a member of the Royal Navy and later the Irish Navy. Both Nelson and Crane were interested in the subject, and he had happily agreed to go along.

He dried himself off and wrapped himself in his robe. As he walked up the path he toweled his hair. He thought he heard voices as he approached the inn, but they were muffled as if by distance, and he could not see anyone. He reached for the handle on the back door, and was surprised to find it locked. It had been unlocked when he went out, and had been the same the day before. It must have gotten locked by mistake. He shrugged and started around to the front of the building. He might run into someone in the hall, but at least he was covered up for the most part. He smiled to himself. He wouldn't want to shock their hostess. Might put her off American Naval officers; wouldn't want that.

He lifted the towel again to wipe at some water that had trickled out of his hair and down the side of his face so he wasn't aware of the group of men that stood in front of the building until he walked in among them. When he lowered the towel he found himself the cynosure of many pairs of eyes, and he nearly jumped back, but before he could do so he sensed men closing in behind him. Suddenly O'Doul appeared before him, and he could see an almost wild look in the older man's eyes. O'Doul pointed what looked like an axe handle at Crane.

"There it is, fresh from the water! Dinna I tell you. It's just like yesterday, he goes in the river at night, and comes out during the day. Sure as I'm standing here, he killed the woman and left her there, and he'll do it again if we don't stop him!"

"What are you talking about?" Crane asked O'Doul. He could see that the men surrounding him were also armed with clubs and a few with rifles. One man even had an old flintlock pistol that had to be a hundred years old if it was a day. Whatever O'Doul was accusing him of it had to be serious. Two men behind him grabbed his arms and started trying to drag him toward a flatbed truck that stood in the driveway. He resisted. O'Doul pushed forward and placed the improvised club on his chest.

"Don't be playin' innocent with us, ya skirlie," he growled. "Didn't I see you change with my own eyes? And sure everyone knows that you sort live to kill those what are fooled into doin' what you want. Drownin' them in the river or lake, like that innocent lass that was found this mornin' just down stream of here. As if you didn't know." He looked at the men holding Crane. "Get him in the truck. We'll wait for Father Donovan, he'll know how to kill a fairy thing."

"What!" Crane nearly yelled. "You think I killed someone, just because I was swimming in the river? I don't even know anyone here. Why would I kill a girl?" He fought to resist the pull, but other hands joined the two men's, and he was slowly dragged toward the truck. They had almost gotten him there when the front door of the inn opened, and Nelson stood in the doorway. He was dressed in his robe and pants, with his slippers still on his feet. He had obviously been dressing, and heard the commotion. He took several steps out into the driveway, and Crane could see Miss O'Quinn hovering anxiously in the doorway.

"What the hell is going on?" Nelson demanded. "Let go of him, immediately!" The shout had all the authority of a lifetime spent giving orders and expecting them to be obeyed. The men pulling Crane instinctively obeyed, loosening their grip enough to allow Crane to yank his arms free. But O'Doul was not going to be foiled so easily it seemed. He had moved up behind Nelson and raised the club. Crane started to yell a warning, and he heard Miss O'Quinn also yelling, but the club came down before he could get the warning out. Nelson fell to the ground, unmoving. Crane tried to push his way through the crowd of men to him, but O'Doul's action had revitalized the men, and many hands grabbed him and dragged him back toward the truck. He fought, gaining himself several fists in the face and stomach, and a blow to his left eye which made his head swim. He was soon in the back of the truck.

They forced him down on the rough boards of the flatbed, and it felt as if someone was kneeling in the middle of his back. He managed to turn his head, looking back at the inn as the truck started to move. He could see Nelson, still unmoving on the ground, and Miss O'Quinn bending over him, and watching the truck disappear with wide eyes. Many of the other guests had spilled out of the open door, staring from the still form on the ground to the truck loaded with men driving off down the driveway. The weight on his back seemed to increase as they jounced over some potholes, and he suddenly found he could not breathe. He tried to move, but gained only a slap across the back of his head. He gasped for breath, and finally when his tortured lungs could draw no more air in, he fell into the dark pool of unconsciousness.

Chapter 4-

Nelson slowly awoke, swimming up from the darkness that he had been engulfed in. He was deeply puzzled however. He distinctly remembered wakening earlier. He clearly recalled going to the washroom down the hall, shaving and bathing and returning to his room to dress. He allowed the memories to play back like a video. He watched it all, awakening, checking on Crane and finding him out, bathing, shaving, starting to dress, then… His eyes popped open. He had heard men shouting, and the sound of curious voices in the hall. He had put on his robe, and went downstairs, to find Miss O'Quinn hovering near the front door anxiously. The sound of angry voices came from outside. He had started to ask what was going on when he heard Lee Crane's voice, seemingly raised in anger from outside. He had wrenched open the door to find a crowd of men dragging Crane toward a truck. He had demanded that the men release Crane, and had taken a step forward to drag them off if necessary, when his world had gone dark.

He became aware of someone speaking to him. A woman. It was Miss O'Quinn, and as he focused his bleary eyes on her he could see the tracks of tears running down her face. He realized suddenly that he was no longer outside the building, but instead was on one of the sofas in the sitting room of the inn. As he looked at her Miss O'Quinn gave a gasp and smiled.

"Oh, oh. Thank goodness you are awake. Oh, my, I… I just don't know what I would have done…" She stuttered, then gasped again as he tried to swing his legs off the sofa and sit up. "Oh, you mustn't move. I've sent for the doctor. You've been unconscious for a long time, and you have a lump..." she stopped as he kept moving and sat on the edge of the sofa. He had to lean forward and put his head in his hands as it spun. Finally he was able to lift it, and look around. Aside from himself there were several other guests in various forms of dress and three employees huddled in small groups all watching from a distance. He might have imagined the suspicion in the eyes of the locals, but he didn't think so. There was one person who was very definitely not there.

"Lee, they were taking him, dragging him. Where is he?" he asked, looking back at O'Quinn. The woman wrung the small handkerchief in her hands, and sniffed.

"Those awful men took him!" She said in a distressed voice. "I've never seen anything like it. All of them just… just… and O'Doul! He HIT you! Oh, nothing like this has ever happened around here. What will I do?"

Nelson sat up straighter, the dizziness retreating. "WHERE did they take my friend, and why?" he asked, impatient with the woman's stuttering.

She shook her head. "I don't know. They just showed up out there. I locked the doors, but they just stayed out there, and then I realized that they wanted Mr. Crane. They were talking crazy, about old superstitious things. Demanding I send him out. Then I realized that he was ALREADY outside, and that they had him. After O'Doul… after he hit you they dragged him to the truck and put him on it and then drove off. I don't know where they went."

Nelson rose to his feet, once more pausing to let his body become accustomed to the change in orientation. He went to the window and looked out, as if some clue would be there. But only the bright green landscape greeted his eyes. He looked back at the woman.

"Where would they take him? This isn't a very big place. There can't be all that many places that they could have gone!" he demanded. He realized he was still in his robe, with only his slippers on. He needed to get dressed, and then he had to make a call…

"I suppose they could have taken him to the county seat to the jail there, but the Sheriff would never allow… I mean this wasn't legal."

"Where else?" The county jail did not seem a likely place for a mob, and it _had_ been a mob, to take their victim.

One of the workers stepped forward. "They said something about waiting for Father Donavan. That he would know what to do." She said shyly.

"Father Donavan? Is he the priest at the church we passed on the way here? Surely he wouldn't countenance mob violence. And for that matter, what do they think Lee DID, we've only been here one day and part of a night," Nelson asked.

When Miss O'Quinn could only shake her head, the worker spoke again, crossing herself carefully before she did so. "It's not what he did so much as what they think he is," she said with a nervous glance at the other two women, who were looking on with disapproval.

"_What_ they think he is? And what is that? And what do they think he's done?" asked Nelson with a glare at the other women that sent them skittering back toward the kitchen. The younger woman seemed to appreciate their absence as she stepped toward Nelson. She leaned toward him as if to make sure that no one overheard.

"They think that he killed Bridie Hanrahan, her that was found near the bridge this morning, drowned," she nearly whispered.

"What!" Nelson said explosively. "Why the hell…" He saw the apprehension grow in her eyes as he started, and stopped himself, taking a deep breath. "Why would they think he killed a woman that he couldn't have known, and _what_ exactly do they think he is?" he asked in a level, perfectly reasonable tone that was completely opposite what he was feeling. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. Wherever they were taking Lee, they were getting further and further away.

She looked nervously around again, her eyes moving over the other guests who were not even pretending not to listen. Finally she turned back to Nelson leaning closer. "They say that he's a Kelpie, or an Each Uisge, come to take who he can, and finding Bridie last night as she made her way home from workin' in the pub." She said it with an almost eager tone, like she was passing on a juicy bit of gossip.

Nelson could only stare at her as her words echoed in his mind. He had as a boy read everything he could find about his ancestral homeland, including the legends. Two such legends had been the Kelpie and the Each Usige, the 'water horses' of Celtic legend. According to the legends both in Ireland and Scotland, the horses lived in the waters of the land, rivers, lakes, and ponds. In olden times they were said to appear to a weary traveler as a wondering horse. Once the traveler decided to use the animal, and climbed aboard, the horse would run swiftly back to the waters from which it had come, and if possible drown the victim. The Each Usige was said to have a hide that was sticky, not allowing the victim to swim away, and tended to stay to the deep waters off the sea or ocean inlets. The Kelpie, native to the rivers and lakes, had no such sticky hide, but in the days of the legend's creation, few people knew how to swim, and a swift ride into the depths of a body of water would spell certain doom. He also recalled that the Kelpie at least could come out of the water, and appear to be human. They could even breed with human females, Kelpies and Each Usige being exclusively male. Aside from the absurdity of believing in such superstitions in this day and age, Nelson could not understand how the local people could possibly think Lee was one of these creatures. He looked at the girl.

"Why do they think that Lee, my friend, is a Kelpie?" he asked finally, logic yielding no answer.

"Why he's slim and dark, and comely. And, O'Doul was saying that he was dressed up like some fancy lord when he first come, like the Kelpie does to impress the lasses. Then yesterday O'Doul swears he was chasin' the Kelpie stallion along the banks of the river, as he has three times in the last week, and lost him in the bushes. When he got through finally, there was your friend, wet and standing there plain as day in the dawn light. O'Doul figures he was in the water overnight, and was coming out to walk among the human folk during the day lookin' for a victim."

Nelson's pounding head was almost unable to follow the twisted logic of what the girl was saying. Evidently O'Doul had been the instigator of this whole thing. Right from the start he had gotten some idea in his head about Crane. Nelson thought back to when they had arrived. Lee had been wearing his uniform, with his ribbons and badges in full display as he had been dealing with the Naval Investigative Service. Nelson supposed that since often one saw the various British royals wearing Naval uniforms, that such a uniform could be considered 'lordly'. Nelson now remembered that the legends did indeed say that the kelpie in human form was always dark and slim, a handsome man, dressed as a lord, all the better to lure innocent women.

Unfortunately, Lee was tall, slim and handsome, and to a man who was as suspicious as O'Doul seemed to be, that could have been all that was necessary. If O'Doul had been chasing the 'Kelpie' for the last week, then Lee was just the thing he had been looking for, a tall, handsome, stranger, unlike any of the other guests here, the only inn in the town. Then Lee had been at the river, early in the day, at just the right time. Crane had told Nelson about the stallion, and O'Doul's strange actions. They had laughed it off. Now Nelson deeply regretted that.

"I can assure you that my friend is nothing but a man. I have known him for over fifteen years, and he is no mythical water horse. He is a commander in the United States Navy, and we can prove that. Do you have any idea where they might have taken my friend?"

The girl shook her head, then looked up at Nelson with a sly look. "I don't know, but my Da was one of the men that come and took your friend. I could be finding out where they took him…" she trailed off suggestively. Nelson tamped down his temper, and met her eyes.

"How much?" he asked with his teeth clenched. It went against his grain to pay what amounted to blackmail, but he would do anything that might get Crane back. She looked around, and whispered a figure that was ridiculously low given Nelson's fortunes. The girl obviously had no idea that he was wealthy. In fact he had the amount with him in cash. He nodded and the girl turned to go, but Nelson grabbed her arm.

"Only if you tell me _exactly_ where they are holding him, and he is still alive when I get there," he said. She looked about to protest for a moment, but then she looked into his eyes and didn't say anything. She nodded briefly then ran out the door. Miss O'Quinn who had watched it all was still wringing her hands.

"I just don't understand how this could have happened. I mean we're isolated, but this is just crazy. Who could believe that Kelpies really exist? That's like saying that you believe in leprechauns! All those men…. I just can not believe it. And that poor boy…" she broke off when she saw Nelson's face.

"I need to make a call, a long distance call. If you just add the charges to our room bill that will be fine," he said. She nodded, saying no more, and pointed toward the small alcove which held a phone available for the guests. He stepped to it, and threw a glare over his shoulder at the guests that were still hovering nearby, evidently hoping for more entertainment. Nelson's glare had become quite pointed and well practiced over the years, and it had the usual effect. The guests scattered back to their rooms, leaving Nelson and Miss O'Quinn alone. He really didn't mind her presence, so he picked up the phone and waited for the operator. Once he had her he gave her the number that he wanted. It was a matter of minutes before Angie, his secretary back at N.I.M.R, picked up.

"Nelson Institute of Marine Research, Admiral Nelson's office. This is Angie," came her usual phone spiel.

"Angie, it's me," Nelson growled. "Can you put me through to Morton?"

There was a short pause from the other end, but then Angie got over her brief surprise, and became the secretary he had come to count on. "I'm sorry Admiral, but Lt Commander Morton is not here. We're at the end of the day here, and I just saw him leave about twenty minutes ago. I think that the Chief is down at the boat however and if you can hold I'll get him."

"Wait a minute Angie, take this number down." He recited the number off the phone dial to her. "Get the Chief and have him call me at that number. Have security beep Morton. I need him and the Chief to get here as soon as possible. Francis can brief him on the way. Have someone preflight FS1, I want them in the air as soon as Morton can get there."

"Yes, Admiral," Angie replied. She paused again. "Admiral is something wrong?" She had been his secretary too long to not know his tones very well.

"There's… been trouble here. I need back up, or at the very least a 'get away car' as it were. I'll have Sharkey fill you in if there's time. I have to go finish dressing. Hopefully by then you'll have Francis for me." He hung up and headed for the stairs, ignoring his hostess as he tried to work through a plan in his mind. Until he could find out where they had taken Lee he could not do much, but he was going to rattle every door in this town until he found someone that could help him. Someone had to know, and he was not above using some of the things he had learned long ago in ONI to find out what he wanted to know. He climbed toward his room with renewed determination. He was going to find Lee Crane!

Chapter 5-

Chip Morton was holding the door for his date to enter the restaurant when his beeper went off. He saw the woman turn and roll her eyes at the sound. He shrugged at her and looked at the display, seeing the security number. He ushered her into the foyer of the pricey place, and ignoring the disapproving stare of the Maitre'd, took out his cell phone.

He dialed the number and identified himself to the man on the security desk. He was instantly routed another phone, and was surprised when he heard Angie's voice.

"What are you still doing there, beautiful? That new boyfriend of yours is going to be complaining," he kidded her.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she answered. "Guys worth dating don't mind waiting, Mr. Morton. Just you remember that." Her voice then became serious. "The Admiral called from Ireland. He wants you and Chief Sharkey to head there in the FS1 ASAP."

Morton frowned. The plan had been for Sharkey to leave tomorrow morning and pick up Nelson and Crane at Cork Harbor, the Irish Naval Station in the south of Ireland. They were supposed to fly down from where they were staying on a charted plane. He could not think of any reason for the urgency, or for his inclusion in the flight crew all of a sudden, or at least not a reason that he wanted to contemplate. But given exactly who was involved, he knew that logic would probably not be involved.

He had resigned himself years ago that knowing Lee Crane meant that even the simplest trip could escalate in almost no time to a matter of life and death. It seemed that trouble, be it in the guise of nature, man, or even aliens, always knew where Crane was, and was happy to throw whatever it had at him. The fact that Crane was uniquely equipped to handle most of it was the only bright spot to his friend. By nature of his training, his mindset, and his will to survive, Crane always seemed to dodge the bullet, though not enough to avoid being wounded more often than not. His penchant for trouble seemed to be offset by his incredible luck. Chip dread the day when Crane zigged instead of zagged, and the luck ran out. But now, even Chip could not imagine what trouble Crane could find in a small northern Irish town. If he understood it right, the place was difficult to reach by road, and had only one hotel. What could possibly have gone so wrong that the Admiral would order Sharkey and Morton to get there, ASAP? You would think that the presence of the admiral would have had some effect, but then Morton had noticed in the last couple of years that Nelson was almost as trouble prone as Crane.

"What's going on Angie?" he asked.

"I don't know. The admiral sounded very angry, and worried, but he said he would explain what was needed to the Chief, and the Chief could brief you on the way there. He didn't give me any information. I'm sorry," she replied. "The FS1 is being prepped now. Can I tell the chief you'll be here soon?"

Morton glanced at his watch. "Yes, I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Can you have the Chief get my bag out of my office? I'm not exactly dressed for… well for anything but dinner. I'll change once we get in the air." Angie said she would notify the Chief and hung up. Morton closed the phone and turned to find his date, arms crossed on her chest, and an angry look on her pretty face.

"You promised me a dinner out, Chip Morton! This is the third time you've had to go running back to that job of yours. You'd think you were a doctor or something important," she said angrily. "Well, I've had enough. If you run off this time don't bother to call me again."

Morton looked from her angry face to the Maitre' d who was making no pretense of not listening, as were several diners, then back at her. She was tapping her high-heel clad foot, obviously waiting for him to apologize and say he wouldn't go. He took out his wallet and pulled out two twenties. He walked over to where the Maitre' D was standing at his podium and handed him the bills.

"One of those is for you. Call the lady a cab, would you, and see that she gets in it." He started to turn away, then turned back. "By the way cancel the seven o'clock for Morton. We won't be needing it." Without a further glance at the outraged face of his former date, he walked out the door and headed toward his car. As he went he loosened his tie. He had been looking forward to this date, and had been disappointed when he had gotten the call, but now he was pretty sure that the call had saved him from investing any more time in the obviously spoiled woman.

He was within his twenty minutes when he pulled up to the gate. The guard stepped out and looked into the car, as was the rule. He smiled at Morton and opened the barrier. Morton drove down and parked in the long-term lot. He jogged down the path toward the small docking area where the FS1 and FS2 were docked. He saw several people moving about, and recognized Sharkey standing near the small craft talking to a figure that he recognized as Chief of Security Hanson. He was surprised to see Will Jamieson, the Chief Medical Officer of the _Seaview_, standing by Sharkey, holding a medical bag. Hanson, long time head of Institute security was holding two holstered weapons, and Sharkey took them as Morton walked up. He looked askance at the weapons.

"I don't believe that we're allowed to carry weapons onto Irish soil without some sort of okay from their foreign office, Chief. Is the situation that bad?" he questioned. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. What had Crane and Nelson got into?

"I'll tell you about it when we get airborne, sir." Sharkey said. "We're all ready to go. I put your bag on the bunk. I've filed the flight plan and we're cleared for the transpolar route. We should be there in about seven hours. Sorry about your dinner, sir." The chief was obviously ready to go, and didn't want to waste any time talking. For Sharkey to not want to share information was another indication that things were not good. Increasingly uneasy, Morton looked at Jamieson.

"Don't take this wrong, Jaime, but why are you here? Angie said the admiral only asked for the Chief and me. Is there something I need to know?" He almost held his breath waiting for the answer.

"I was with the Chief when the admiral's call came in. From the sound of things at least one of them needs my services now, and I'm giving even odds that the other does too. If you don't mind I thought I would tag along. It doesn't seem fair to expect the Irish medical establishment to deal with _both_ of them at once," Jamieson said. Morton couldn't help but smile at the doctor's long suffering delivery.

"You're welcome to come along Jaime. Just be sure that you tell them that it was your idea. For some reason they aren't always happy to see you."

"I've resigned myself to that," Jamieson said sarcastically. He followed Morton and the chief aboard, and settled into the extra seat. Morton took the pilot's chair. He would hand off the controls when he was ready to change his clothes.

After going over the take-off checklist, Morton was soon guiding the small craft into the air. He turned to the vector that would take them north over the pole, the shortest route to Ireland from Santa Barbara. Once they were at their altitude, and he had engaged the autopilot, he turned and looked at Sharkey.

"All right Chief, what have they got into _this_ time?"

Chapter 6-

Lee Crane shifted against the wall that was supporting him. As he did so the thick iron chains that bound his wrists to the wall rattled, drawing the eye of the man that had been set to guard him, though he wasn't sure where they thought he could go with his arms bound to the wall, and his ankles bound together with equally thick chains. By the time he had come to, they had already brought him here, wherever here was, and had chained him. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious. He had woken in time to hear the argument about whether 'cold iron' could bind a fairy creature.

He had tried to talk to them, reason with them. But O'Doul countered his every argument. He was somewhat satisfied that he had managed to put doubt into the minds of about half of the men. They had looked from him to O'Doul, as they argued point after point, and one by one they had left, casting nervous, sheepish, glances at him, and muttering excuses. He could see that the remaining men were not acting out of malice towards him, all except for O'Doul that is, but they seemed to be easily swayed, and he sensed that O'Doul had spent a long time cultivating their obedience, establishing himself as a leader. He wondered briefly why, but was diverted by his situation. He didn't know how to deal with this. How do you argue against a superstition? These men seemed to be willing to suspend disbelief and think that he could be this Kelpie, as they kept calling him. He had come to understand from what they said that a young woman had been killed, drowned, near the bridge they had passed over the day before yesterday, the bridge downstream from the inn.

He eased his body again, trying to find a comfortable position. His best guess at the time was almost five hours since he had awoken to find himself here. In that time he had found out that they had not been gentle with him while he had been unconscious. He thought he had at least one cracked if not broken rib. He was well familiar with the feeling. He was also familiar with the symptoms of a concussion, and he thought that he might have a minor one of those, too. His left eye was swollen, though not closed all the way. He also had a split lip that ached. His discomfort wasn't helped by the fact that they had taken his robe and slippers, leaving him only his swim trunks. While it might be summer, wherever they were it was cold and dank, and he could feel his body temperature dropping. He wasn't sure how long he had been here all together, his watch being back at the inn, and since he couldn't see the sun, he couldn't use that method either. He shivered.

He had managed to get his guard to tell him exactly why he was here, but when he had tried talk to the man, the guard had cast a fearful look at the stairway the others had disappeared up, and had moved away, ignoring Crane's other attempts to talk to him. He had to agree that there were some things that made the story almost plausible, if you could get around the fact that it was based on a legend. He was slim and dark, with a complexion unlike any of the local men, even the ones with tans from being at sea. His eye color was rare among the locals, who tended to be light eyes and fair skinned. None of the other guests at the inn had been dark complexioned. Then there was the whole thing with the river.

He was a very good swimmer, and diver, able to hold his breath for a long time, probably longer than anyone in the area unless there were other divers. His ability would be used against him he knew. Then there had been the horse. He still couldn't explain that. According to his guard, O'Doul had seen the horse come out of the water upstream from where Crane had been swimming. O'Doul had seen Crane dive, and had assumed, or at least so he claimed, that Crane had somehow morphed into the horse, the Kelpie of legend, and emerged upstream. O'Doul had given chase, only to find the horse missing and Crane standing there wet from his swim. It was damning evidence to these men.

He took some time to look over his prison. It was a small room, though it looked as if there was at least one more room beyond a metal door set in the wall to his left. The floor was packed dirt. The stones that made up the walls had been plastered over long ago with a white stucco-like covering, most of which had disappeared. Two kerosene lanterns lighted the room. It gave the impression of great age somehow, and Crane tried to figure out where they could be. It seemed to sound a cord in his mind, somewhere they had gone the day before maybe, but he could not make the connection. Not that knowing where he was would be much help if he couldn't get out. He knew Nelson would be looking for him, but even _he_ couldn't work miracles. His eyes fell on his robe, lying near the door, and a small part of a plan grew in his mind. As he was trying to force himself to ignore his physical condition, and put some effort into getting out of there, a voice called down the stairs.

"Clive! Get your worthless self up here. We've have things to do, and the irons will hold him." The man, Clive, rose to his feet and started toward the stairs with a glance at Crane. It was now or never.

"Before you go, can I at least have my robe? It's cold down here, and even if I am what they say I am, would a little kindness be too much to ask?" Crane implored, trying to look as miserable as possible; not that hard a job given how he felt. Clive hesitated, looking from Crane to the robe. With a glance at the stairs he went and grabbed the robe and spread it over Crane's huddled form. He didn't meet Crane's eyes as he did it, and he disappeared up the stairs without a word. Crane watched him go, and waited several minutes to make sure that no one else came down to replace him.

Finally he stretched his hand down, grabbed the robe, and began bunching it up until he could reach into the pocket. He thought for a moment that what he sought had fallen out, or he had removed it and simply forgotten, but finally his fingers found what he had hoped was still there, a bobby pin. One of the ladies that he knew had used his robe one night, and had left the pin in the pocket. He had found it yesterday on his way down to the river, and had smiled at the memory of the woman, and the time they had shared before she had moved on to a more settled, more available, man. He carefully unbent the pin, and bending his wrist as much as he could, he inserted the end inside the lock of the manacles. It was incredibly awkward, and if the chains had been more modern he would never have been able to manipulate the lock. He was willing to bet that the key to these was one of the old skeleton style keys, and there were only two or three tumblers inside. After a moment, there was a click, and the manacle fell open.

He lowered his arm, stifling a grown as he moved his arm down after being up for so long. The pins and needles of returning circulation made it impossible for him to work on the second manacle for a moment. He kept his eyes on the stairs, straining to hear any hint that someone was approaching. Finally his hand became useful again, and he reached over and quickly worked the second lock. It took even less on the ones on his feet. He stood. Using the wall to support himself when a sudden dizzy spell almost sent him back down. After a moment he bent down and picked up his robe, pulling it on before he pushed off the wall and went toward the stairs.

He crept up the steps, pausing on the small landing halfway up the flight. He looked up the remaining stairs, but could see no one. He went up until he could see what was beyond the stairway, and was puzzled to see not more walls, but what seemed to be grass, and a tree, and dim sunlight. A breeze, warmer than the air had been below, blew over him. It felt good on his chilled body. Wherever he was, it opened into the outdoors. He could see no door across the opening, but thought he could make out the remains of large hinges where once a formidable door had hung. As he stood there looking at those hinges he suddenly knew where he must be. The old abbey, the ruin church that stood on the hill outside the village. He and Nelson had stopped there the day before, to look at the old burial grounds that were nearby. They had not taken the time to go into the ruins, but he now recalled the same plaster covered stone on the remaining walls. He managed to find some irony in the fact that the men had kept him prisoner in an old church that had probably been whole when the legends of Kelpies had been formed.

He continued up the stairs, and cautiously stepped out from the stairs. Enough of the walls remained here to leave a sort of entryway into the cellar that is where he supposed he had been. Standing there he could see that it was almost twilight. He had evidently been unconscious a long time, the blow to the head in addition to the lack of oxygen having combined to keep him out. Nelson would be ready to chew nails about now, not having found him. Crane wondered what the admiral was doing to try to find him, and what the easiest way to get to him would be. He had to be careful where he went. He couldn't be sure that anyone he ran into wasn't one of O'Doul's friends.

His best chance was to get back to the inn, and try to locate Nelson. He was reasonably sure that Miss O'Quinn was not involved in the mob, having a faint memory of her face behind Nelson, pale and shocked, as he was being dragged off. That decided he glanced up at the sky, getting his bearings. He figured he was only about four miles from the inn as the crow flies, but he knew that the river and a lot of unknown territory was between him and the hopeful safety. A lot of the land here was farmland, so he should be able to move unseen across most of it, but he would have to cross the river, and the road at several points. With a quick look around the edge of the wall he surveyed the area. He crept carefully forward, using what cover there was, glad that his robe was dark blue, making it easier to blend in with the increasing shadows.

He was almost to the end of the ruins, and getting ready to run toward the bushes when he heard voices coming from a distance. It sounded like arguing, but he could not really make out any words. Maybe O'Doul's friends were starting to have a harder time buying O'Doul's story. Crane looked carefully in the direction of the voices, but could not see anyone. He stood from where he had crouched down, and started for the bushes, determined that he would make it this time. He was almost there when he heard a voice behind him.

"You there, stop! Stop!" There was a pause, then "Hey! He's getting away. Hurry!" It was his guard, Clive. Evidently he had been on his way back from whatever they had to do, and he had spotted Crane as he made for the bushes. The captain didn't stop however. He ignored the yelling and plunged into the bushes, determined to make it as far as possible before the chase could begin. As he moved faster his bare feet were taking a beating, but he ignored the pain. He broke out of the bushes into a field of some tall grain crop. It was a mixed blessing. He could move quickly over the field, but he was easy to spot, and his passage left a clear path for his pursuers. He ran as swiftly as he could, hearing the yells behind him. He was more than halfway across the field when he looked back to see the first of the men coming out of the bushes. They spotted him quickly, and the chase was on.

He was moving faster than any of the men behind him, but he could feel the effects of the day wearing him down, as well as the pain in his feet. He could not sustain the pace. Also, the men knew the territory, and that put him at a definite disadvantage. He had to get away from them, lose them so that he could get to where he needed to be. As he crested a small rolling hill he could see the river about a hundred yards ahead of him, the banks covered in bushes and tress. If he could get among those, he might be able to throw them off.

He put on as much speed as he could, and widened the gap. He would need all the time he could gain to find the best hiding place. It came to him that their seeming belief in the legend might be to his advantage. If they truly thought he was a Kelpie, then if he could reach the water they might think he was unrecoverable, and leave. He heard the rising urgency in the yells behind him, and knew that he had guessed correctly. He was suddenly in the bushes, and after pushing his way through them, was at the banks of the river. He looked both ways, trying to see something that would make this easier. Nothing stood out until he moved down the bank and looked back at where he had come out. There was a small overhang where the dirt bank had been worn away from the roots of a tree. It wasn't a large space, but if he could get down there, and just get enough of his head above water to breath, it should be hard to spot him in the increasing darkness. He was lucky that he had seen it himself. He could hear the voices of his pursuers coming closer, yelling to each other, spreading out along the bank. They would be here soon. He slid down the steep bank, hoping that he didn't leave too much evidence of his passage.

The water was colder than it had seemed that morning, probably due to his already lower body temperature. By the time he had swum to the overhang, and maneuvered himself into the small space, he was already shivering. If he had to stay here very long, he chanced hypothermia. It might be summer here, but in the higher latitudes even summer nights could be cool. Hypothermia would make getting to Nelson infinitely harder. He could hear the men moving back and forth on the bank above as he half floated there, only his face above the water. Some must have had flashlights, as he saw beams of light occasionally playing across the water. It seemed to take a long time, but eventually the sounds moved away, and he no longer saw the lights. Actually it was probably no longer than twenty minutes.

He waited another ten minutes, until he vaguely noticed that he was no longer shivering. That was not a good sign, his groggy mind pointed out. He forced himself to work his way out of his hiding place, and clumsily swam across the river, pulling himself up onto the opposite bank. He lay there, feeling even colder in the night air for several moments, marshalling his strength. Finally he pulled himself up and looked up at the now dark sky, looking for the familiar stars. He pulled off the dripping robe, and wrung as much water from it as he could. It wasn't much better than nothing, being wet, but it did give him some protection from the slight wind. He wrapped it back around him, and turned toward the direction he needed to go. He took one step toward the bushes, and came to a stop as a large black horse, dripping with water, stepped into his path.

Chapter 7-

Harriman Nelson was a man used to getting what he wanted. But what he was getting now was nothing. And it had been the same all day long. He had gotten dressed, and placed a call to the local constabulary. The constable, a man by the name of Deegan, had come to the inn, apologizing for not having stopped the mob earlier, but he had been at the site where the woman's body had been found, and had not heard of the actions of the men until he had returned to his small station.

Nelson had been somewhat shocked to learn that the constable had found evidence that suggested that the woman had not drowned, but rather had _been_ drowned. There were bruises on the back her neck, as if someone had held her down in the water. The constable was investigating. Nelson could not complain about the man's devotion to duty. He had put out the call to the larger police station in the county seat, and more men had come in. They had gone door to door in the village, asking questions, but had found nothing.

Nelson had found nothing on his own either. He had talked to everyone he could find, practically begging for any hint of where Crane could be, or even if he was still alive. His head had throbbed for most of the day, but after a handful of aspirin he had been able to ignore it for the most part. He had managed to track down Father Donavan, the local priest, at the home of an aged parishioner on the edge of dying. With profound apologies to the family Nelson had asked for a moment of the priest's time and had told him what had happened and what the men had said about checking with him on killing one of the fairy-folk.

The old priest had blushed slightly, admitting that he was a student of Irish mythology. However, he was deeply upset at the thought that anyone, especially men he knew, could have thought that such a creature as the Kelpie, or the Each Usige, existed. He recalled that O'Doul had recently been showing an interest in old legends. He had asked the priest for the best books to read about the fairy-folk that supposedly inhabited the land. The priest had loaned him several of his own books, and had suggested others. He had been surprised, and a little pleased, that one of his parishioners had taken an interest. Now he was deeply upset that the information was being used to harm someone. He apologized for his inability to help, but his duty was here for the time being. He did offer Nelson access to his library back at his parsonage to do any research that might help.

Nelson had gone on asking questions and getting no answers. As the day progressed he and the constable had found that many of the men that had been involved that morning had reappeared in their homes and businesses. However none were willing to speak of where Crane had been taken. The constable had threatened legal action, and Nelson had offered a reward, but so far no one had dared to speak out. It was if they didn't want to admit that they had been involved in such a thing, and were pretending that they knew nothing. The worker from the inn had returned, but had reported that her father had not returned home. She had been disappointed at not being able to collect the money that Nelson had promised. Constable Deegan had arrested the men that they had been able to definitely place at the inn that morning on suspected kidnapping charges, but it did Nelson no good. After almost 8 hours he was glad to get a call from the land-sea operator. She put Morton through after she had confirmed Nelson's identity.

"This is Nelson. Go ahead Chip," he said

"Sir, we're twenty minutes out from the coordinates that you gave Sharkey. I've looked at the chart, there doesn't seem to be any docking facilities there," Morton replied.

"No, there aren't any facilities. That area is not near the village. I don't want to cause any more rumors than are already going around." Nelson was well aware that the small yellow submarine was an odd sight for most people, and if this was a matter of superstition, he didn't want to add fuel to the fire. He was glad that Morton and Sharkey were here. As helpful as the constable had been, it would be good to have someone as concerned as he was helping him look. "I'll be on the shore either when you land or shortly thereafter. I've arranged for the owners of the property to allow us to leave her there." He had given them the coordinates of the old Nelson homestead, and had talked to the current landowners, explaining to them what had happened, and what he wanted to do. They had been puzzled when he told them that a craft would be landing in the bay, but had agreed. He had borrowed Miss O'Quinn's car again to get around, so he could get there in about fifteen minutes.

"Any news, sir?" Morton asked. Nelson closed his eyes, once again feeling the throbbing in his head, and sighed. "No. No news at all. The constable and his men have canvassed the whole village looking for information. They arrested some men who were here this morning, but no one is willing to talk. They have an idea of who has him, one of the benefits of living in a small village, but no idea where they are." There was silence from the other end for a moment then Morton spoke, obviously trying to be optimistic.

"We'll find him, sir. I'm sure of it."

"I hope so. Nelson out," he replied, and hung up the phone. He leaned for a moment against the wall, rubbing his stiffening neck, and throbbing head; time for more aspirin. After self-medicating, he went out to the car and headed toward the meeting spot. It was almost dark now, and he tried not to worry about how long it had been since he had last seen Crane; it didn't work.

By the time he pulled up to the small house, and followed the path down to the estuary the FS1 had landed and was moving toward him, nosing up against the rocky shore. He stood watching as the engine shut down and the hatch opened. He was surprised to find himself almost face to face with Will Jamieson, who stared at him for a moment with a frown and then spoke.

"Well, I can see you have a headache and a stiff neck. What have you done for yourself, and has anyone taken a look at your hard head?" the doctor asked acerbically. He jumped out of the hatch and was followed out by Morton and Sharkey who looked at him with concern. Sharkey started securing the small vessel as Morton stood to the side to watch the interaction between the admiral and the doctor.

Nelson scowled at the doctor. He hadn't realized how bad he was looking. "I don't recall requesting your presence, Jaime," he muttered.

"Memory loss too. Not a good sign. Why don't we step into the FS1 and let me look you over?"

"I don't think so. We don't have the time. Lee's been missing all day. There's no telling what these men will do to him. If they are willing to believe in fairy tales like a Kelpie, then they are not going to be swayed from their paths. I've done some research, and you really don't want to know what the legends say about getting rid of fairy-folk. It's not pleasant." He had to keep himself from imagining Crane impaled to an oak tree with an iron stake through his heart.

Jamieson scowled, and his sharp eyes surveyed Nelson in the rapidly waning light. Coming to some conclusion he nodded. "All right, but on the way to wherever we are going you'll tell us what happened," he raised a finger, "with NO information conveniently left out."

Unwilling to argue the point here Nelson nodded and led them back to the car. Jamieson insisted that Sharkey drive. With a nasty look at the doctor Nelson climbed into the passenger seat and pointed the way. He then leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. He felt a hand settle on his shoulder and he turned stiffly to look back at Morton and Jamieson in the small back seat. He could feel the doctor's eyes on him, but he chose to focus on Morton as he told them the details of the day. They were pulling into the inn as he finished.

"Well, I gotta admit at one time I would have been skeptical about any kind of mythological creature, but we've seen enough strange things in the last few years that I'm willing to keep an open mind about just about anything. But to accuse Lee of being one of these 'water horses' that is just over the top. I mean this man that's pushing the idea, O'Doul I think you said, he can't have a personal grudge against Lee, but what about some other agenda?" Morton said as they climbed out of the car and headed inside. Miss O'Quinn met them at the door, and offered them the use of her personal parlor that she used for entertaining her private guests. Nelson thanked her and they followed her into the room, and waited for her to leave before he answered.

"Yes, I have wondered about that myself. I've asked around about O'Doul, trying to make sure that he hadn't been anywhere else before coming here. I thought maybe he had been involved in something that Lee had done, some ONI mission in concert with the RNIS. As far as I can find he's lived here all his life, and was only gone for several years during the war." As he spoke Jamieson had come over and started doing a brief exam of his head and neck, gently probing the sore spot on the back of his head, and taking his blood pressure. Nelson tried to ignore him.

"From what you said, it looks like whatever plan he had started as soon as he saw you get off the plane and saw Lee in his uniform. Could he have some kind of grudge against the American Navy, or the Irish or Royal Navy for that matter? The uniforms aren't that different," Morton suggested.

"I thought of that," Nelson replied, trying not to wince as Jamieson shone a light in his eyes. "As far as anyone can tell me, he was in the army and has had no contact with any Naval officers. I don't think it's personal. I think Lee was just the right type." He went on to explain what he had found in the books, about how the Kelpie was always a handsome, slim, dark haired man, dressed as a lord, who lured unsuspecting woman, and as a stallion killed unsuspecting travelers that tried to catch a free ride.

"Well right there the killing doesn't fit." Sharkey noted. When the others looked at him he shrugged. "I mean if this Kewpie… uh Kelpie thing was supposed to uh… seduce the woman, well why did she end up dead? I mean if it's the horse version that does the drowning, not the man version. It don't seem to add up right."

Nelson stared at the chief for a moment, dumbfounded by the simple but astute observation. "I didn't look at it that way, Francis. That's very good." His mind raced. "And a student of the legends as O'Doul had become would have recognized the difference, so that means that he doesn't so much _believe_ in the legend as he's _using_ the legend, for his own purposes. The question is why?"

Jamieson, who had finished his exam, was folding his stethoscope back in his bag. He had shaken his head in amazement when he had heard the supposed reason for Crane's kidnapping, but the speculation now made more sense. He thought about what Nelson had just said. "The woman," he said out loud. The others looked at him.

"What do you mean Jamie?" Morton asked.

"Everyone in the village, including the local police, because of _your_ insistence admiral, has been very concerned about finding the captain, and are all abuzz about how the mob claimed he was some creature of legend responsible for drowning its victims. One of who is supposedly the woman found this morning. All very sensational, and I bet it is the main topic of conversation everywhere. It seems to me that the whole thing has been a diversion." He looked at Nelson who frowned, eyes narrowed and obviously thinking about what Jamieson was suggesting. Morton and Sharkey were also frowning. Jamieson continued.

"Admittedly it's been a long time, but I grew up in a town not much bigger than this. Everything that happened was known from one end of the town to the other, almost before it happened. The only thing that could stop people talking about one thing was for something even more shocking to take its place. It seems to me that the whole thing with this legend, and the angry mob scene, did just that. It took everyone's mind off the murder of a woman. This is an isolated town. It's unlikely that a murderer just happened to be passing through and just happened to find the woman. It is more likely that someone here killed her for whatever reason, and needed something to take everyone's mind off it, Of course the question is, are they still here, or did they just use the confusion to make his or her escape?"

"HIS mistake," Nelson said firmly. The others looked at him. "It was O'Doul. I don't know why, but I know it was him. Father Donavan was surprised when O'Doul suddenly became very interested in the legends of Ireland about two months ago." He stood up and started pacing. His mind was racing. "He's planned this since then, just waiting for the right stranger to come through. Lee was perfect, not only did he fit the profile that O'Doul needed, but also he was traveling with me. O'Doul knew that if Lee was to be taken that I would make a protest, and the whole thing would become the talk of the town, taking everyone's attention from the murder." He started back toward the front room where the phone was. He could hear the others following him. He picked up the line and dialed the number for the constable's office, which he had memorized.

When the man picked up, Nelson launched into an explanation of what they had discussed, barely pausing to introduce himself. To the constable's credit he listened silently, only asking a few questions. Once Nelson finished he was quiet, except for a slight humming. Nelson, recognizing a habit of thought, waited, though not patiently. Finally the constable spoke.

"I think you may be on to something there, Admiral Nelson. While I was looking for your friend, I asked a few questions about the woman that was killed. I'm not from here, so I didn't know her personally, though I had seen her around. Her friends say that she had been upset recently, very moody and depressed. One of her girlfriends admitted to me that she had gone to the county seat with the murdered woman to see a doctor there just over two months ago. I placed a call to the doctor's office, and spoke with him. It seems our victim was about a month pregnant at that time. He said that when he asked about the father, the woman burst into tears and ran out of the office. I have some men out now asking some more questions. I was waiting for a call from the county coroner when you called, hoping there might be some more clues."

Nelson sagged back against the wall. It seemed that Jamieson's suspicion was true. He shook his head at the others who were looking at him with concern. He straightened. "What does this mean now? Do you think this will help to locate my friend? You'll understand that my main focus is on finding Commander Crane, before he can become this man's second victim." he said. He was of course concerned about the woman's death, but his priority now was making sure that Lee didn't join her.

"I think that if we present this to the men that I'm holding for kidnapping that maybe they will be less inclined to protect O'Doul," the constable said. "They're not bad men, Admiral Nelson. They just feel silly about letting O'Doul talk them into something like this, and I think they thought it would all just work itself out without them having to admit it and look stupid. They're all drinking buddies you see, and there's a loyalty there, but it don't cover murder. I think I know just the men to talk with, too. Let me talk to them, and I'll call you if I get any information. Are you back at the inn?" Nelson said that he was, and hung up. He turned to the others.

"I think we're about to get the break we needed gentlemen," he informed them. He looked at the clock. It had now been almost eight hours since Crane had been taken. He paced briefly in the hall and then started for the door. He wasn't going to wait here. If the constable was going to get an answer, then he wanted to be on hand to go wherever was necessary. The others followed without questions. Sharkey sped up and made it to the driver's door before Nelson, earning himself a scowl, which the chief ignored. Nelson settled into the passenger seat again, and gave directions. He told the others what the constable had said about the woman.

"Well that puts a new light on the whole thing. I suppose that since you said that O'Doul was a parishioner of Father Donavan that means he is catholic, and I bet that the woman is too. I don't suppose that having a baby out of wedlock would be very well received," Morton observed.

"She would have started showing soon," Jamieson noted. "She wouldn't have been able to hide it much longer. The speculation would have been rampant. You can bet that someone knew what was going on, you just couldn't hide something like that in a small town. She would have told a girlfriend, or someone saw them together, no matter how careful they were."

"And if the woman was young, and the father of her baby was old enough to be her father, all the more scandalous," Nelson agreed. "If O'Doul is behind this, which I believe he is, I think that he was appalled at the idea that the woman might tell who had gotten her pregnant, that he would be forced to 'do the right thing'." He pointed Sharkey to the constable's office as they entered the town, and Sharkey parked in the small lot. They entered the small building, coming in to the office just as the constable came from the back of the building where the cells were. The man smiled at them.

"I was just about to call you admiral," he said, going to his desk and getting a small holstered pistol out of a locked drawer. He talked as he put the holster on his belt. "I was right. Once I explained the possibilities as we saw them to the men, they started talking. I have the names of the rest of the mob, and I know where they are holding your friend. As far as they know, he was alive when they left. They also confirm that the whole thing was at O'Doul's' instigation. They had been drinking most of the night, at the pub before it closed, and at O'Doul's' place after that. It seems he had just got a case of whiskey from a grateful guest out at the inn, and wanted to share it with his friends.

"He talked up his supposed experience with the water horse yesterday morning, and finding your friend there after the horse disappeared. He kept pointing out parts of the legend, and how your friend was the spitting image of the Kelpie. By the morning they were all convinced that your friend was what O'Doul said he was. After Miss Hanrahan's body was found this morning, O'Doul turfed them out of his place and had them whipped into a frenzy in a matter of minutes after the news got around. They were on their way to get Crane before I got to the crime scene."

"So we're going after Lee now?" Nelson asked. He made sure he emphasized the word WE. He was not going to remain behind while strangers went after Lee.

The constable smiled again. "I somehow doubt that I would be able to stop you coming along short of locking you in with the others." He glanced at the other three men. "I also notice that you got some reinforcements of your own. Are these the men you said were coming?" Nelson quickly introduced the others, anxious to get moving. The constable however looked over the three men, and made no move toward the door. "I notice that you two gentlemen," he motioned to Morton and Sharkey, "seem to be- what is the American term-'packing heat'. I would like to think that you didn't bring weapons into Ireland, as that would be a crime punishable by a stiff fine and deportation. Now if those guns, if they are indeed guns, were to remain in the car and not make another appearance before you leave, I could say truthfully that I didn't see any such violation."

Morton smiled, and nodded, "I can see how you might mistake our cell phones for weapons. Just so there is no confusion, the Chief and I will leave them in the car. We appreciate the warning though. We came out of concern for our friend, and wouldn't want to break any of your laws." He didn't want the constable, who was obviously willing to overlook their weapons, to think that they were disregarding their laws. They needed the man's help, and also they didn't want to leave a bad impression.

That agreed, the men got into the car and followed Deegan and three of his fellow constables from the county seat in their own vehicles. As they turned up a road not long after leaving the town, Nelson swore under his breath. That explained why they hadn't found Lee in town, or on any of the surrounding farms. No one, including himself, had thought to look at the old abbey on the hill. They pulled up in front of the church, and they all got out. The constable and his men had powerful lights. They decided that the constables would each take one of the Americans, and they would search the area.

They found the flatbed truck that had been used almost immediately, hidden in some bushes to the side. It was only about five minutes later that a call came from the other side of the ruins. They gathered at what appeared to be the top of a flight of stairs. They went down cautiously, the constables not drawing their weapons, but keeping their hands close to them. When they reached the bottom of the stairs the lights easily lit the small room. It appeared to be a basement. The constables looked around quickly. They opened the single door that was there, but the room beyond was collapsed. There were two kerosene lanterns on a crate near one wall. Deegan put his hand on one, and looked at the others.

"It's still warm. Like it was used recently," he said. He lit the lantern which gave them even more light.

One of the constables was looking along one of the walls, and gave and exclamation. They all looked at what he was shining his light on. A pair of manacles hung from an old iron ring in the wall. A second set of manacles lay on the ground nearby.

"I'd say this is where your friend was held," he said.

"Well that's grand," Nelson said, not wanting to think about Crane being chained to the wall in this dank room for hours on end. "But where is he now? Where are the men that took him?" The constable started to answer when Sharkey, who had gone back up the stairs for some reason came running down.

"There's someone coming!" he said urgently. "I can hear them coming through the bushes to the east."

"Douse the lights!" Nelson and Deegan said at the same time. The lights went out, and they waited in the dark. After a few minutes they could hear the sound of several pairs of feet descending the stairs.

"...had an ounce of sense, Clive, he wouldn't have gotten away!" They heard as the group of men came down the final flight of stairs. They had a flashlight, and just as the light fell on one of the constables, Deegan and his men turned on their lights, blinding the newcomers.

"All of you stand still. You are under arrest," Deegan said. The man in the lead, and the one that had been speaking, was O'Doul. He looked around as if seeking a way out, but his way to the stairs was blocked by his own friends, and there was no where else for him to go. A cunning look came into his eyes, and Nelson knew that he was trying to figure out a way to talk his way out of this.

"We have nothing to say to you, Deegan," he declared. Nelson noted that the others seemed less assured, huddling behind O'Doul.

"Oh, you have nothing to say do you?" Deegan said as he stepped up to O'Doul. "We'll see about that. Now I'll ask you this once- Where is Lee Crane?"

O'Doul sniffed at him. "I know our rights. You can't make us talk," he sneered.

Later, Morton would recall that Deegan stepped to the side at just the right time to allow Nelson to charge past him and grab O'Doul by the shirt. He also seemed to be studying his notebook as the admiral slammed the other man against the wall, and leaned in to speak in the O'Doul's' face.

"_He_ might not be able to make you talk, but believe me, _I_ can," Nelson said in a deadly, serious tone. His blue eyes, like burning ice, blazed into O'Doul's. The other man shrank as far back as he could, and looked wildly at Deegan.

"You can't let him do this. You've arrested us, this is against the law!" he stammered, his former bravado fading.

"Oh, I didn't finish reading you your rights, so technically you aren't under arrest yet." Deegan said. He patted his pockets absently. "In fact I can't find my rights card. I guess I'll have to go look in the car." He looked at the other constables. "Why don't you boys come along and help me look for it? We'll take these other gentlemen up with us, and they can help, too." Nelson grinned wolfishly at O'Doul. The man looked at his friends, then back at Nelson. His face went pale.

"You can't leave me here with him and the others," he nearly begged Deegan, who shook his head regretfully.

"Got to do this by the book. If I don't have the card, the magistrate will throw out the arrest. Can't have that. I'm sure that the admiral and his friends will be sure that you are fine. I mean it's always possible that you could fall down the stairs and hurt yourself or something like that." He and the others started to herd the rest of the men toward the stairs, and Morton had to hide his smile as O'Doul's face took on a terrified look. The other men were also looking from O'Doul to the admiral with an almost morbid curiosity. Just as Deegan prodded the first of the others onto the stairs, O'Doul broke.

"He got away! We chased him to the river, but he got away. We couldn't find him in the dark," he cried out, his eyes begging Deegan to not go. Deegan looked at Nelson.

"There's your answer. Looks like your friend didn't need our help after all," he observed. Nelson pushed away from O'Doul, his eyes disgusted.

"Commander Crane has an unusual talent for extracting himself from situations," he agreed. "Now we just have to find him. It won't be easy. He's had extensive training on evasive tactics."

Deegan looked at Nelson, no doubt wondering why a submarine officer would have training in evasion, but he asked no questions. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a card, and went to stand in front of O'Doul. He held the card up where the other man could read it, and started reciting his rights. When he started listing the charges, culminated by the charge of murder, the group at the stairs shift uneasily, and stared in surprise. O'Doul's swore at him, and the constable smiled at him as he turned him around to put on handcuffs. He looked at the others. "You lot. You get up those stairs with the constables and cooperate in full, and maybe we won't charge you with accessories after the fact. As it is you are facing kidnapping and unlawful imprisonment charges."

The chastened men went quietly, followed by Deegan nearly dragging O'Doul, and the men from the _Seaview_. As they reached the top of the stairs, Deegan shone his flashlight at the bushes to the east.

"That's the way to the river. He had to have gone that way if he went in. I don't know what good we can do now with it being so dark, and if he's as well trained as you say. He won't be able to tell us from them. He's likely just to see any searchers as enemies. We may have to wait until it's light." Nelson knew that waiting was the best option, but it grated on his patience. It would be hours until then, and Lee could be injured. He was about to agree when Jamieson stepped forward.

"What was Commander Crane wearing when he was taken?" he asked. Nelson looked at him in puzzlement, but answered anyway.

"He was coming back from swimming in the river. He was wearing his robe over his swim trunks and some slippers. Why, Jamie?" he asked.

Jamieson took a deep breath and let it out in a gust. He jerked his head toward the stairs. "It was cold down there. If he was there for any length of time, dressed lightly, he could be hypothermic, a condition that won't be improved if he dived into the river. It may be warm enough out here now, but in the water it will be cold. Then he'll be wet, which will make it worse. Also, how was he treated? I've never known a mob to handle anyone with care."

The others looked at him, the possibilities running through their heads. Nelson shook his head and looked at Deegan. "We can't wait. We have to find him now."

"I have a map in my car, and I can put the word out for volunteers. We'll get some men up here with lights and start looking." He started for his car, where the other Constables were sorting out the men they had arrested, dragging a silent O'Doul with him. As he walked away, Sharkey snapped his fingers. The others looked at him.

"The infrared scanner in the FS1! The captain had me make sure it got installed during the downtime. We could just make passes back and forth between here and wherever and see every living thing that's out there, including the captain," he said excitedly. He was referring to a new development that Nelson had agreed to add to the already formidable array of detection equipment on the small vessel. The infrared scanner would indeed pick up anything giving off a heat signature regardless of the ambient light. In fact, it was made to do so in the depths of the ocean.

"It's your night for great ideas Francis. Let's go." They made hasty explanations to Deegan who didn't really understand, but promised to start the ground search regardless. They then piled back into the car, and Nelson pointed the way back to the FS1. Sharkey didn't spare the small car as he pressed his foot down on the accelerator.

Chapter 8-

Crane knew that he was definitely hypothermic when it didn't really bother him that the horse had suddenly changed into a dark haired man dressed in resplendent clothing of centuries past. In the light of the rising moon Crane could see that the man was dark haired, slim, and he supposed could be considered handsome, though maybe not by today's standards. The man/horse seemed to study him for a moment, and then smiled, his white teeth flashing in the moonlight. For a second, the scene seemed to shift, and the horse stood before him again.

"You're a braw lad," the other man spoke finally. "I dinnae think you'd be getting away from the skirlie mob so easy." His voice was deep, and there was something in it that seemed to call to Crane. He blinked and shook his head.

"You… you knew they had me?" Crane asked. He had considered simply walking on toward the inn, knowing he had to get somewhere warm before his body shut down, but one part of his mind reasoned that if he was seeing hallucinations, there was no reason that he couldn't talk to them too.

"Aye, not much goes on around the river that I don't know about. Like you and your strange boat. You know what goes on aboard her," the thing that Crane realized must be a Kelpie said.

"How do you know about my boat?" he asked.

"Sure and you swam in me river. Just as you were in the waters, so were the waters in you, and I am the water. What it knows, I know. Tis a strange life you lead," the Kelpie replied.

Crane shook his head, feeling woozier all the time. There was something wrong about this conversation, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. "Why… why are you here now?"

"I owe you, lad. They took you in my place and that injured you. Sure and my kind don't take to being obliged to mortals. Also, you're a son of this land, at least by heart if not by blood. I knew your ancestors, and their ancestors before them. I know no bad of them, though I see they made little good of themselves for the first several years after they left this place. Your Nelson seems a good man however, and he seeks to protect the place all the waters go, I owe him for that. And last of all, that skirlie bastard O'Doul, he killed that woman in my waters, and sought to blame it on me. I can't have that now. He'll have to pay, and one of the ways he'll do that is by you livin' to tell the tale."

Crane shook his head again, overwhelmed by the information. "I… I don't think that I'm going to get very far. I think I'm hallucinating, hypothermia." It didn't seem to be right telling a hallucination that he was hallucinating, but then, nothing had gone right since this morning.

The Kelpie laughed. "Sure and you are very cold. The waters stole your heat, and I canna give it back to you. But I can take you to where your friends are. They have a strange yellow craft in the salty waters where my river runs. I ken it not, even after seeing it in your mind. I canna take you there by water, but I can take you there by land." The horse suddenly stood before him. "Climb on my back young mortal and we will go."

Crane stared at the horse, gleaming black in the moonlight. He stepped forward, but stopped as a thought came to his mind. "I thought Kelpies tricked travelers into getting on their back and then drowned them if they could. I… don't think I want to go back in the water right now," he said. The horse shook its head, and the man's voice seemed to echo through Crane's head.

"I wouldna hurt you lad. You're a creature of the water nearly as much as I. Trust me, you have no need to fear harm from me." The voice was reasonable and Crane found himself wanting to trust it. He stepped forward, and used the last of his strength to pull himself up on the smooth, muscled back. As soon as he was settled, his hands grasping the long mane, the horse started to run. His stride was like nothing Crane had ever experienced before on a horse. It was like being at sea, rocked by the waves. He was vaguely aware of the landscape flying past at a terrific speed, but he could no longer keep his eyes open, and he leaned forward over the neck of the horse, and surrendered to the darkness.

Chapter 9-

Sharkey parked the car in the same place that Nelson had before. Morton had borrowed one of the flashlights from Deegan, and he lit the path down to the water. They were almost to the FS1, when they heard the sound of hooves pounding on hard dirt. It sounded like a horse running. They looked around, but could see nothing. They exchanged glances. With a collective shrug they continued forward. As they came into sight of the small craft, Jamieson, who was in the lead, let out a yell and broke into a run. The others looked forward to see what the doctor had seen, and all of them also started to run. Jamieson was leaning over the still figure of Lee Crane as they came up to him.

"Jaime?" Nelson asked, his eyes not moving from Crane's bruised face, which looked ghastly in the light of the flashlight.

"I don't know, admiral. He's way too cold. We have to get him on board and get him warmed up. I don't know if I'll need a medical facility or not until I look him over in the light and get a temperature reading." Sharkey dove for the hatch, disabling the security devices. Morton moved to take Crane's feet while Jamieson lifted his head. Nelson followed closely, carrying Jamieson's bag.

In the lights of the FS1 Crane looked little better, pale and blue around the lips. Sharkey went to the controls and started the preflight checklist, warming the engines in case they needed to head for the nearest hospital. Morton helped Jamieson strip off the sopping robe and swim trunks, and Nelson unfolded several woolen blankets from the locker. The slim form was wrapped in the blankets as he started to shiver. Jamieson nodded as he got his instant read thermometer out of his bag.

"That's a good sign. His body is warm enough to shiver. That means he's warming already. I think the hypothermia is relatively minor." He examined the bruising around Crane's eye and looked at his pupils. He felt through the wet hair, feeling a minor bump at the back, but nothing serious. He unwrapped the blankets slightly to look at the bruising on the chest, and felt the ribs beneath. He felt what could be a crack, but no breaks, though he would like to have an x-ray. He looked at the three anxious faces watching him, and gave them a small smile.

"I think he's going to be fine. He has a slight concussion, really nothing compared to what he's had in the past. He has what feels like a cracked rib, but I'll x-ray it to make sure when we get to a medical facility. Are we heading home, or staying in the area?" The last he addressed to Nelson.

Nelson was so relieved to have Crane back that he didn't answer for a moment. Then he shook his head. "I think that we owe it to Constable Deegan to stick around and help him with his case. I know Lee would agree. I think a trip to Cork harbor may be in order, however. The Irish Navy has a base there. I know the commanding officer, and I am sure they'll let you use whatever you need Jaime. We'll put in a call to Constable Deegan once we get in the air." Jamieson agreed, and they prepared for takeoff.

As Morton was maneuvering out to deep water before taking off, Nelson looked over his shoulder at Crane, strapped down for take off, and spoke aloud the question that had been in his mind since he had first seen him lying next to the flying sub.

"How the hell did he get to the flying sub? In fact, how did he know it was there?" There would be no answer until Crane came around. Nelson would have to wait.

Chapter 10-Epilogue

Lee Crane stepped out of the witness box where he had just given his evidence before the magistrates. He was only slightly familiar with the Irish form of a trial, but he felt that the trial was going well. O'Doul had been stubbornly silent, refusing even to make a plea, as if his silence would stop the process. The evidence had piled up due to Constable Deegan's meticulous work.

It had been found that the dead woman and O'Doul had been having an affair. They had been trying to keep it quiet, but the woman had told her friend, and the news had spread. There had been a falling out almost two months before the woman had died, around the same time as the visit to the doctor. Witness after witness had given damning evidence against O'Doul who sat staring at nothing in the defendant's box. Crane had given his information as quickly as possible. He had been able to answer everything asked of him up to the time he was asked about his escape. He was truthfully able to say that he only clearly recalled climbing out of the river on the far bank, and after that he was waking up in a hospital bed at the Cork Harbor Naval Station. After a short stay there they had returned to the small town to give their statements and pick up their belongings. Crane had been under the eagle eye of Jamieson, so he had not been able to do much beyond walk from the FS1 to the car, and from the car to the constable's office and the inn and then back again, despite his protestations of being fine.

It had been a relief when they had taken off for Santa Barbara though he knew they would have to return for the trial. He was somewhat put out when Jamieson refused to allow him to pilot the FS1, backed by Nelson. He had refused to lie in the bunk however, and had ended up sleeping through most of the journey in one of the chairs. They reached Santa Barbara in good time, and he had to endure another exam before Jamieson would let Morton drive him home. Of course it hadn't ended there. Morton had practically tucked him in, and Nelson had called to check on him. Sharkey had shown up the next day to drive him into the Institute. It had been a relief when the _Seaview_ was ready to go back to sea and they could get back to normal.

That had been over two months ago, and the memories of the whole experience had started to fade, as had the bruises. Nelson had attempted to apologize, but Crane had brushed it aside, assuring him that he in no way blamed Nelson for anything. He had enjoyed their time there before the abduction. He was just ready to have the whole thing over with. That included the dreams. In the dreams he was again on the riverbank, and there was a man there, or was it a horse? They had a strange conversation, and then he had gotten on the horse's back and the horse had brought him to the FS1. He was 99% sure it was just a dream, though he could not explain how he had gotten to the FS1, or how he had even known it was there.

The trial reached a swift end, and the verdict was returned equally swiftly. O'Doul was sentenced to life in prison, still stoically refusing to speak or even look at his judges. Nelson, pleased with the punishment, stopped to speak with Constable Deegan. Crane excused himself, wanting to get outside for some fresh air. He was pleased to find that the courthouse was next to a small park that ran along the banks of a river. He followed the path for a ways, keeping in sight of the courthouse so that he would not miss Nelson when he emerged. The park continued on the other side of the river, and looked to be left in a near wild state with bushes and trees untrimmed. He was turning to walk back toward the courthouse when he saw movement on the other bank. Turning back he saw a man standing there, dressed in a uniform not unlike his own, but lacking the over coat he had put on against the light rain. As he looked, the man's eyes met his, and he could see that they were the same color as his own. He blinked, and a picture came to his mind, a picture of himself and that same man standing on another riverbank, in the moonlight. He blinked, and a black horse stood where the man had been, it's golden eyes seeming to laugh at him. As he watched the horse reared up, then charged into the river. But there was no splash of water, not even a ripple disturbed the smooth flow. The horse was gone, but there was a familiar laughter ringing through his ears, and a voice seemed to call to him.

"You and yours be well, Lad. Be well."

He watched the water move for a moment more, then raised his hand and gave a casual salute to the river. Looking toward the courthouse he saw Nelson on the steps looking around for him, and he turned to go. He thought he heard sound of laughter again in his mind, and he thought he might just have a tale to tell Nelson on their way back to _Seaview_.

The End.


End file.
